


Three-Course Meal

by Spiderlily_Writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Absolutely no beta of any kind, BDSM, Chastity Device, Cunnilingus, F/F, Food Puns, Kinda, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Throws this at you and runs away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes
Summary: Marianne and Hilda have devised a cunning solution to a frustrating problem, and after an entire day spent enduring the worst of her heat cycle, Hilda helps Marianne find some relief.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41
Collections: Marihilda NSFW Week!





	Three-Course Meal

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Here's my piece for MariHilda NSFW week, Day 4: Lock and Key

To the outside observer, something like a chastity belt might seem cruel, but Marianne knows better.

For one thing, she can’t imagine Hilda _ever_ being cruel to her. It just seems…antithetical, to her entire state of being. Sometimes her girlfriend can be just a tad lazy, or complain a little too often, but to be cruel? No. Never. Furthermore, although most would classify use of a chastity belt as ‘kinky’ or call it a ‘fetish’, it serves a bit of a different purpose for Marianne.

Marianne’s Crest of Maurice—or Crest of the Beast, depending on who one asks—has a lot of fairly interesting effects. Some of those effects are obvious, and it does have its uses in battle, but some of its properties are a little more strange and hard to explain. For example, the fact that every month or so, for a few days at a time, Marianne goes into heat.

She can always feel it coming on. The first day is the easiest one; it’s little more than a persistent, frustrating arousal that feels almost like an itch that it’s impossible to scratch. Marianne used to try to…’handle it’, herself, but it doesn’t really do much to alleviate that ever-present tension. She’d been trying ever since this first started happening, when she was nineteen, and even if she locks herself in her room all day and fucks herself silly, the feeling doesn’t go away.

The second or third days, though, she’s a mess, because it’s nearly impossible for her to resist the compulsion to touch herself. Fantasies, unbelievably lascivious and featuring just about anyone she so much as _looks_ at during those periods run absolutely rampant through her mind, and leaving her hands idle for even half a minute means that they’ll slowly snake down between her legs. It’s maddening and annoying and humiliating all at once. She’s not a pervert or anything; it’s just how she was born, but she would give just about anything to change it.

When she started courting Hilda, it became a lot more difficult to hide those impulses. It’s bad enough when she can barely rein in the desire to masturbate whenever, wherever she happens to be, and it’s certainly not helped by Hilda being equal parts lovely and physically affectionate. It only took a couple instances of Marianne pouncing on her after a chaste kiss on the cheek before Hilda started to notice something was going on, and Marianne eventually came clean.

Hilda, though, is very clever, and proposed a solution.

“Why don’t we just make it so you can’t do that?” she had asked. Marianne was initially skeptical, but their current arrangement works far better than anything she’d tried before, so she really shouldn’t complain.

She complains anyways, though.

“Hilda, _please_ ,” Marianne whines, squirming in her seat. She can’t rid herself the urge to move, even if it doesn’t help her at all. “Are you nearly finished?”

It’s the third day of her heat, and though Marianne feels like she’s done an admirable job staying on track today, her self-control is just about at its limit. She wants Hilda, wants her _now_ , and the fact that she’s stuck in the mess hall while Hilda finishes up the dishes from dinner is absolutely maddening.

“Just about. I have, like, three plates left? You’re being a very good girl, waiting for me,” she says, and Marianne groans. Hilda might not be cruel, but she does love to tease, and she absolutely knows that the words ‘good girl’ send a shot of arousal straight to Marianne’s core. “Blame Claude. He’s the one who stuck me with _all_ of the fucking dishes tonight.”

“Th-that’s because you didn’t do them when it was your turn,” Marianne points out, growing warm, digging her nails into the tabletop. She might actually be starting to sweat; she can’t be sure. Her body is a whole electric mess of sensations when she’s in heat, and it can be hard to separate one from another. “But I wish he’d have picked a different night,” she mumbles to herself. One of her hands slips down into her lap, but she realizes what she’s doing when the tips of her fingers collide with a hard piece of metal.

Marianne sighs. Sometimes she forgets she’s wearing the darned thing, but she always remembers eventually.

“Yeah, well, it’s bullshit anyways. I shouldn’t have to do dishes. I’m delicate,” Hilda insists, and Marianne cringes as, somewhere, a plate crashes down far harder than it should. “Done!”

As soon as Hilda comes out from the back room, Marianne’s gaze falls on the small silver key on a chain around Hilda’s neck. Whenever anyone else asks, Hilda just tells them it’s a new necklace, that she’s simply on the cutting edge of modern fashion, but Marianne knows the truth. She whines softly as she watches the key bounce against Hilda’s collarbone, knowing where it’s going to go, and knowing what it’s going to allow. And, well, perhaps she also catches a glimpse of her girlfriend’s fairly generous cleavage, but that’s hardly _her_ fault.

“Good. Wonderful!” Marianne exclaims, putting her palms flat on the table and bolting up from her chair, so quick that it goes clattering noisily to the floor. Hilda’s eyes go wide at the racket, and Marianne cringes at her own display of desperation.

“Well,” Hilda says, taking a few steps closer to Marianne, mischief plain in her voice. “Someone’s in a hurry tonight. You got somewhere you need to be, Miss Marianne?”

Now she _knows_ she’s sweating, and her face grows even warmer. It’s a pitiful sight, she’s sure, but the rational part of her brain has all but shut down now. She _needs_ Hilda, more than she needs air or water or food, and she closes the remainder of the distance between them. “Please?” she begs, taking one of Hilda’s hands in both of her own. “Please, Hilda? Don’t tease me, it’s really bad this time.”

Hilda’s face softens, and her smile becomes sincere. “Aww, Mari, I was just having some fun with you. Don’t worry, you’re gonna get everything you need, I promise.”

“Oh good. Oh, Hilda, you’re so kind,” she murmurs, leaning in and planting a kiss on Hilda’s neck. She wouldn’t normally be so bold, but these are extenuating circumstances, and she thinks she can be forgiven for a little breach of etiquette. Marianne follows the kiss with two more, and nibbles lightly on the last one. “Thank you so much, _thank you_ ,” she breathes, hot on Hilda’s skin.

She feels Hilda gasp as much as she hears it. “Whoa, you’re getting a little feisty, Marianne. Someone might catch us,” Hilda says, her tone warning. “I mean…the doors are locked, but, like, you never— Ah, hey!”

Marianne cuts her off by nipping at her neck again, pressing her whole body against Hilda’s. She wants to be close to her, wants to be _on_ her. She wants to be pressed so flush against Hilda that she can’t so much as _breathe_ unless Hilda does.

Her hands go to Hilda’s back, and she claws at it, desperately. She’s getting more and more animalistic, more needy by the moment and she really can’t bring herself to care. Her hands move up to fumble at the clasp of the chain that holds the key around Hilda’s neck, and she eventually manages to get it undone. She’s sure she would be faster if she could keep her lips off of Hilda’s neck and cheek for more than a second or so, but she doesn’t know if that’s a sacrifice she’s willing to make.

Hilda moves her own hand up and grabs the key, pulling it away and holding it out to the side. “Mari, you’re sure you wanna do this here? I’m totally down if you are, but…”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure,” she says, wrapping her arms around Hilda and holding her tight as she renews her assault on her neck. Even as she kisses herself breathless, she writhes against her partner. It feels so _good_ to have someone there.

“Okay, I mean, we don’t have our str—”

“Use your hand! Please!” Marianne interrupts again, in between kisses. “Just…please, Hilda.”

She manages to draw a little groan out of Hilda as she bites _just_ the right spot, and the groan turns into a chuckle. “Alright, Mari, but I’ll need you to step back for a second so I can take your belt off.”

It’s pure, _utter_ agony to do it, but she manages to pull herself off of Hilda for a moment, and hikes up her skirts with a speed and casualness that she would usually consider obscene.

Hilda’s well-practiced at this, by now, and doesn’t struggle with the lock on her chastity belt at all. She slips the key into the lock, lets the thing unclip and tumble to the floor, and then kicks it aside with one booted foot. It’ll need washed, anyways. Marianne’s wet enough that she’s half surprised there isn’t a puddle on the floor.

“Wow,” Hilda remarks, slipping a hand through the slickness on Marianne’s inner thigh. “Guess we don’t need a whole lot of foreplay, do we?”

Marianne shakes her head quickly, her half-loose hair bouncing a little. “No. No foreplay. Hilda, I need you so, _so_ badly. Please.”

She must finally sound desperate enough, because Hilda nods once, then puts a hand on Marianne’s chest and nudges her backward. Marianne stops when her backside collides with the table, but Hilda keeps pushing. Understanding, Marianne lays down on the table, on her back, and Hilda uses one hand to guide her down. It’s so dirty, so _unthinkably_ lewd to do this here, but she really doesn’t have a choice at this point. She’s got a need to fulfill, and she’ll go to any lengths to do so.

“I want to taste you,” Hilda purrs, sinking to her knees in front of the table, which is at a _perfect_ height for such an act. Marianne whimpers, but spreads her legs as Hilda gestures for her to do so, parting her arousal-slicked thighs shamelessly. Hilda giggles. “I mean, it makes sense to eat here, doesn’t it?”

“Hilda…!” Marianne cries, because _that_ manages to cut through the haze of need and make her feel just a little twinge of embarrassment. Her girlfriend merely laughs again.

“It’s okay, relax,” she replies, and that’s the last thing Hilda says before pressing her lips to Marianne’s folds. The touch is _electric_ , and Marianne cries out at the near overwhelming sensation of that one, simple touch, just a bare ghost of a kiss against her.

She moves her legs, crossing them behind Hilda’s back and trying to pull her closer. Hilda doesn’t resist, reaching up and gripping Marianne’s thighs, moving exactly how Marianne wants her to. Even though Hilda can be a tease sometimes, she really _does_ care. And she shows it.

Hilda goes to work immediately, pressing her lips to Marianne’s clit and sucking lightly, flicking her tongue against her there, and Marianne nearly _screams_. She moves one hand to her mouth and covers it, trying to muffle her cries as Hilda goes down her with a single-minded drive and obvious eagerness. She works at Marianne’s clit for a moment more, then moves down, trailing her lips from there, down to Marianne’s entrance, and back up again, then doing the same with her tongue. It’s enough to drive Marianne wild, and it only takes a few moments before she’s trembling, tears of pure, utter bliss rolling down her cheeks.

It feels so good, so _wonderful_ , and it’s exactly what she needs. The feeling of Hilda finally doing this for her after waiting all day is perhaps the most wonderful sensation she’s ever experienced. It’s like _finally_ managing to scratch an itch that’s been plaguing her for hours, and that relief alone is almost as palpable as anything physical.

“Hilda, keep going, please,” Marianne whimpers, her hand falling away from her mouth and down to the table. “Please, it feels so wonderful, don’t stop.”

Hilda hums an affirmative, and Marianne gives her a choked little cry in response as she feels the hum rumble through her. It’s almost too much. Almost.

Her climax is approaching, the first of what she’s sure will be _many_ that night, and she reaches down to bury a hand in Hilda’s hair, clenching her fingers tight. She knows Hilda likes having her hair pulled, and it makes Hilda moan when she does. If Marianne were a less honest person, she’d say she’s doing it to make Hilda feel good, but really, she just wants to make sure her girlfriend doesn’t stop.

“Hilda, Hilda, _please,_ ” she repeats like a mantra, tightening her legs, holding Hilda firmly in place that way, as well, before her other hand joins the first. “Hilda, I’m going to—”

Marianne _shrieks_ as Hilda redoubles her assault on her clit, and it doesn’t so much as push her over the edge, so much as it grabs her and throws her into her climax headfirst.

She’s pretty sure she’s loud enough to wake up half of Garreg Mach when she comes, but she couldn’t care less. Her vision swims, and goes black for just a moment; her head feels light and dizzy and a bit floaty, too, and she loses count of how many waves of pleasure crash over her, sweeping her away without mercy.

When she returns to herself, she hears a hard, insistent _thumping_ noise, like a hand against wood. She panics for a moment, because of _course_ someone would come to investigate the sound of a woman screaming in the dining hall.

Except, that’s not it. She looks down and sees Hilda thumping on the table with one hand. Marianne is initially confused, before realizing that she’s still clenching her legs, and she quickly lets them fall to either side of her girlfriend’s head. She lets go of Hilda’s hair, too, embarrassed that she lost control like that.

Hilda falls back and takes a few deep breaths, looking up at Marianne with wide eyes.

“S-Sorry,” Marianne offers, sheepish. Hilda smiles up at her, still panting hard.

“Don’t…be sorry. That was great. Just…need to catch my breath.”

Marianne takes stock. That driving insistence of her heat has abated somewhat, though it’s certainly not gone entirely. At the very least, it’s enough that she can think straight.

“Still. That was a lot. Th-thank you, Hilda. Um…I can probably handle the rest myself.”

Hilda breaks into a wide, wolfish smile and looks pointedly at the table.

“Marianne, I happen to know you’re _very_ considerate.

“…thank you?” Marianne replies cautiously.

“And you would never _dream_ of serving me less than a three-course meal?”

Marianne feels her heart pound as that excitement builds once more. She smiles, giddy, realizing what Hilda’s getting at. “Right.”

“And dessert?”

“Of course.” Marianne pauses. “There’s…uh…plenty to go around?”

Hilda giggles, leaning in once more and pressing a kiss to Marianne’s inner thigh.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to be very thorough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! If you would like to follow me on twitter, find me [@spiderlilywrite](https://twitter.com/spiderlilywrite). Also, check out the rest of the prompts for the week [here](https://twitter.com/marihildansfw/status/1314593432728469513?s=20)!


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